


Bedside

by ButWhatIfImagines



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 20:50:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15826683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButWhatIfImagines/pseuds/ButWhatIfImagines
Summary: After an unexpected clash with rogue omnics, the Strike Commander is almost killed. You are left to deal with the aftermath, and wondering if he'll ever wake up...





	Bedside

**Author's Note:**

> _Can I request a Strike Commander Morrison/ female Reader fanfic in which Jack gets hurt really badly (by Omnics or Talon soldiers), is hospitalized and Reader worries about him (she thinks that he will die)_
> 
> Cross-posted to our Overwatch imagines blog on tumblr.

“Strike Commander Morrison is down,” blared the voice over the intercom. “I repeat—Strike Commander Morrison is down!”

You tore yourself from your seat and lunged to the command console, panic rising in your throat. “What? What happened?”

“Rogue omnics,” the voice continued, the sound of chopper blades roaring in the background. “Intelligence suggested there were only a few, but it ended up being an ambush.”

“He had a dozen men go down with him! How the hell—”

The voice continued, seemingly unfazed by your panic. “His vital signs aren’t looking good—we need to send in an extraction team immediately. We're looking at multiple casualties—”

You began typing furiously at the console, commanding drones to zero in on Jack’s location. After a few seconds, one caught some grainy live footage of him crumpled on the ground, leaving you to do nothing else but slap a hand against your mouth.

The Strike Commander looked like he had taken a significant beating—and you were certain you saw him bleeding through his armour. While he tried to drag himself through the mud, an omnic kicked him in the side and stomped on his leg full force. Tears pricked at your eyes as you saw him writhe from below, broken and weapon out of reach.

The others in mission control gasped behind you as the omnic immediately turned to the drone and fired off a couple rounds in its direction. The feed went dead, and your heart sank into your stomach.

A beat passed, the silence in the room thick and tense. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself. No, it wasn’t going to end this way. Not if you had anything to say about it.

* * *

As you opened your eyes, you groaned. You weren’t sure how long you’d been out for, but your neck was sore and your back felt like it was overextended. With a low grunt, you stretched this way and that, trying to work the kinks out of your spine.

Jack was still just as you’d left him. The emitter that Dr. Ziegler had set up was still running. You switched it off. At this point, it was probably superfluous. Most of his bruising was healed, and though you couldn’t see, beneath the bandages were probably well on their way, too.

But there were some things that required nature to take its course, and wakening from a coma was one of them. You looked at the heart monitor, watching the slow-and-steady beats show up on the screen. _Everything will be fine_ , Angela had told you. But everything wasn’t fine. If he was fine, why was he still unconscious? It had been nearly a week.

You rubbed your arms as you stood to stretch your legs, making your way over to the window. You could see some light peeking in around the edges—time to get some sun, you supposed.

Tugging the fabric back, you squinted against the bright light that poured in. It wasn’t warm—not right away—but the luminance was a welcome reprieve from the oppressive darkness and gloom of the hospital suite.

All you wanted to do was stay here, until he woke up. You needed to know he was alright—that he was going to survive. You rubbed your face, willing the fatigue away—you must have slept for several hours, but somehow you felt worse—

“Aren’t you going to say good morning, sweetheart?”

You whipped around. There he was, still stretched out on the bed, but eyes open and surprisingly lucid. He looked directly at you, baby blues sparkling with yearning and mischief.

“Jack…” You whispered out his name like a prayer, clutching at your chest. You weren’t sure if you were really awake, anymore.

“Hey,” he said in response, and though he sounded tired, there was nothing sweeter to your ears in that moment. Tears stung your eyes, and you rushed to his side. He grunted as you collided with him, and you knew you’d probably jostled something sore, but you were too caught up in your elation to think about it.

You tried to form a coherent sentence—about how scared you were, how worried you had been, how much you loved him—but all that came out was blubbering sobs. Somehow, he seemed to understand. He held you, whispering softly into your ear that it was alright, you were alright, and he wouldn’t leave you behind.

It only made you cry harder. _You had better not!_ you wanted to shout at him, but instead only found you could be relieved that he was capable of such light-hearted sentiment. _He had almost died._

You took a steadying breath, and leveled him with a stare. “Will you ever give it up?” you asked. “I really like the idea of growing old with you, you know.”

Jack chuckled shallowly. “You know I can’t do that.” And of course you did—you’d never _really_ ask him to, either. But that didn’t stop you from worrying. As he thumbed your cheek, his eyes seemed to tell you that he knew the last few days had left you shaken.

“I was scared, Jack,” you said, as if reading his mind. “I was _so_ scared. You almost died and all I had was _this_.” You gestured around you, hands thrown up indignantly as the medical equipment beeped beside him.

He tried to lean in closer, but hissed instead, clutching his side as a set of stubborn stitches sharply tugged at his skin. With a groan, he leveled his eyes back to yours, and frowned. “I never wanted to put you in this position.” Jack said your name, and let you place a concerned hand on his chest. He covered it with his own, and brought it up to his lips. “But I don’t do this for myself.”

And you couldn’t argue with that. You knew Jack well enough to know he wouldn’t put himself through it all just for the publicity, or the prestige, or the accolades. Countless people believed in your collective work, and none of you would be making the sacrifices you did if you didn’t fully believe it would make the world a better place.

Even when things got ugly, like what led you both to that hospital room, you still held onto that hope. You still held onto him.

The sound of a knock at the door startled both of you.

As it slid open, you saw Angela walking in with two nurses. She had a kit in hand, and one of the nurses was rolling in a cart of additional supplies. “My monitor alerted me about you waking up,” she began with a gentle smile. “But I felt it best to give you two some time alone.”

You smiled somewhat sheepishly as Jack squeezed your hand. “We appreciate that, Angela,” he said. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Likewise, Commander. Now, I think it’s best to take a look at your progress. You’re lucky that omnic didn’t snap your leg.” She smiled gently and turned to the nurses. “Matilda, Sujin, can you please address Commander Morrison’s stitches?”

The two were caught gawking at his bare chest for a split-second, and only recomposed themselves after noticing your smirk.

Angela blinked at the temporary lapse of professionalism on their part then looked back to you. “We will take care of things, dear. I strongly recommend you go and get some rest. You’ve been here for days, and you look terrible.” While you couldn’t fault the doctor for her honesty, it still stung a little. “Don’t worry. He’s awake now, so the danger has passed.”

The thought of leaving Jack’s side still left you uneasy, but he squeezed your hand again, firmer this time. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said, his blue eyes soft and assuring. “I won’t be going anywhere.”

“Please let me know if anything changes, Doctor,” you said.

Angela tipped her head in understanding and guided the nurses towards Jack’s other side for inspection.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?” You lovingly ran a hand through his matted hair. “And when they discharge you, I’m going to check up on when you get back to work.”

“More than you already do?” Jack laughed, and let his shoulders fall ever so slightly as he drew you in for another peck.

You flicked his nose playfully with the other hand on your hip. “Watch it, golden boy. My department’s not far from yours.”

“Oh, no complaints here, officer.” He raised his hands up slightly, as if in surrender.

“That’s right.” You walked towards the door before stopping in your tracks. “Oh, and Commander?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to whack you with your shiny nameplate if you scare me like that again.”


End file.
